Friday, 21 October 2011 2 comments

Stop it ! Immediately !

I think of myself as a... passive person; I don't care what other people think or do.

If someone has a problem with me, I probably don't even know it - or care, if I do. My philosophy is this: Mind your own business and bugger off! But there are some things that I just can NOT let slide...

Bad grammar is one of those things. I DETEST when someone writes or says something so obviously incorrect:

"I never would of thought that my grammar culd bee so offending to peeps who devotes an hour of their time to write a blog post on offending grammar. Its highly unusual. They're should be some kind of rule about this twisted rant on blogger.com."

Or how about this example from a NEWSPAPER...

"Mrs. Shirley Baxter, who went deer hunting with her husband, is very proud that she was able to shoot a fine buck as well as her husband."

So how much did you get for his life insurance, Ma'am? Which was the better kill: the fine buck or the old one?


I'm sure that many of us, living in the country as we do, can relate to this casual experience:

"We spent most of our time sitting on the back porch watching the cows playing Scrabble and reading."

Watch for dangling participles and apostrophes! In the words of one individual well-versed in the balming universe that is grammar, if employed correctly and artfully, "the Grammar Nazis won’t slam you" for inadequacies that are painstakingly amplified in the low moments of Grammar History.
Monday, 17 October 2011 0 comments

blahblahblahFRENCHblahblah...

Bienvenue à la section qui n'est pas en englais. 



I loveloveloveLOVE learning different languages. Living in Canada, the majority of us are taught the bare bones of la langue d'amour. If you live in the United States, it is my understanding that Spanish is taught in the younger years ("Otra cerveza por favor!" and that concludes my knowledge of the Spanish language. I'm working on that.) In Europe, students are given many opportunities to learn a variety of languages where they can be put to good use by jumping on a train and closing one's eyes for a few hours and - Voilà! - welcome to language-lover's paradise.

I cannot express how much languages mean to me. 

...

Retake:
Seeing as I am enrolled in Writer's Craft, I am prompted to at least attempt to do so.
So your Grade 9 teacher has, more likely than not, given you the spiel that tries to sway you to continue using your second language in later years:
  • it's good for your brain and defers Alzheimer disease when you have surpassed the ripe old age of the second generation's birth year
  • you will open numerous windows of opportunity that depict the French countryside, or a vast desert with tumultuous winds kicking up sand into every crevasse, beyond the staid glossy surface. Whatever floats your boat... or keeps you hydrated and alive.
  • you may have ancestors from before the Industrial Revolution who traveled to wherever it is that you live from wherever it was that they lived that spoke an alternate language
  • the jolly, rollicking music from the Latin countries may call to your very shriveled, suffocated soul
  • ce pourrait devenir votre raison d'être
  • or perhaps you have a mind that runs like a Hemi; turbo-charged with Nitrous on the side, just in case. You need to take that baby for a spin, every once and a while.
But all of that does not fully encompass what knowing a second language means. It means another perspective; another persona; another voice and timbre. It means understanding and communication.

It means mutual respect. 

I don't know about you, mais je pense que je suivrai - et apprendrai - les langues partout où j'irai.

First I conquer French. Then I conquer the world! 

Mwahahahahahahahahha.
0 comments

Knock Knock, Nostalgia Calling.

Over the summer, I was employed as a caretaker to "provide care for" one little girl. She is adorable, of course, and it is a joy to be able to know this little person. 

It is through these experiences that I have begun to wonder what I was like when I was a small, obliviously happy child - from the perspective of those who knew me. 

For example: I find myself wondering how I behaved in the presence of my babysitter when I was an 8-year old. Did I dictate the Ws ("You there! Yeah, you. Come here and kneel before my amazing fortitude!")? Did a halo float above my curly locks as I serenely looked upon my dastardly younger sibling who was crying a river that the sitter was attempting to divert? Did my babysitter think that I was a luminescent, radiant sun in a world full of thunderclouds, or was I the feared storm cloud looming on the horizon of my sitter's day planner? 


So... now the big question: if you could relive any event in your life, what would it be?


Frankly, I don't believe in long-standing turmoil and regret. What's done is done. C'est fini. End of story and so on:

One can dream about "doing-over" a day in one's youth for a whole lifetime. One may want to go back and catch the ball in the Little League Baseball's final game of the season to become the celebrated athlete at the Neighborhood Potluck.

One may want to go back to the fight that was instigated in the heat of the moment - and concluded with ugly words and uglier ultimatums. 

One may even want to go back to the comfort of a mother's warm embrace, laughing at life's little quirks - the little boy whose glasses are forever slipping down his nose that is always staring when he thinks the concerned individual is not looking; the frolicking puppy that came in for show-and-tell and that kept tripping over its own feet in order to be petted by the 30 tiny hands that grapple for purchase in his silky, sandy fur; or the way daddy always tells you that, "No; absolutely not. You already have too many toys," right before he buys you the best toy you have ever owned - just because, with this new, tactile trinket, you know that daddy still can't resist your fervently-practiced puppy-dog eyes. But then reality sets in as strong, reassuring arms dissipate and you remember that your mother can't hold you after a tough day: the accident long ago left you always missing her.

You can't change the past. That is reality.

Nostalgia may grip you for a time, submersing you in your treasured memories, before senility becomes your reality and you don't know whether your recently-deceased husband is haunting you from the grave or whether your best friend from Grade 3 ever payed you back for finishing her math homework on the probability of friends being friends until they are old and wrinkled (lolly-pops were a hot commodity back then).

"The past is behind, learn from it. The future is ahead, prepare for it. The present is here, live it." 
- Thomas S. Monson

Monday, 3 October 2011 0 comments

Oscar Wilde goes to W.O.?



In the following piece, we delve into our culture’s ludicrous practice of mindless chat that seems to dominate entire conversations when, truly, they should not be discussed for more than a few minutes, or in lieu of a winning personality and wit (discounting a somewhat endurable one, for that matter).
           


By Crystal Dorscht, a W.O. student
As I walk the halls, my ears begin to metaphorically bleed. I continue past the library where, perhaps ironically, my eyelids shutter and my brain shuts down for a few moments in order to endure through my short-leashed tolerance. I shuffle unobtrusively past the stairs to the bleachers when, suddenly, I hear the chiming of something… more. Abruptly I hear the words, “like,” followed directly by, “OMG,” forming the classic phrase, “like, OMG,” in a high-strung, urgent voice that always precedes some obviously horrifying tale or statement full of the indignities and trials of life. “Like, OMG, did you hear? Justin Biker totally dumped Helena Gomez… how dare he! But – OMG –now he’s totally available!!!” Flinching, I walk briskly toward my locker once again. 
                It’s not only at W.O. that I hear these cringe-worthy phrases and sentences and – heaven help me – whole conversations. As a side: honestly – how does one carry on a whole conversation about who broke up with whom, what shade of purple best highlights one’s baby-blue eyes, and who won how many premeditated matches in the world of boxing (do people still watch that any more, or is it UFC, all the way?)? I hear conversations similar to those in W.O. in the tall grey office buildings found in downtown Toronto: “Oh my good-ness, did you hear what Mr. S said today? He says some of the most stupid things…” Well, no, ma’am, I wasn’t actually there, but many people would certainly agree with you in that many people say many stupid things. Not stupid, perhaps, but certainly aimless. And that is why frivolous, inane drivel should be omitted from conversations.
Oscar Wilde
                Admittedly, not all people can refrain from speaking nonsense. It is often not conscious effort that brings forth profundity but rather intelligence and – often – research. However, it is more than probable that we can offer the world something more when we stop to think about it instead of rushing onward without a backward glance, with our noses tucked too far up in places where the sun don’t shine. This is not to say that everyone must speak and write like Oscar Wilde; one need simply devote one conversation, every once and a while, to something worthy of prolonged thought. 
                In a twenty-four hour period, nearly everyone with minds capable of complexity reported partaking in some sort of leisure activity, like swimming, or socializing, or playing video games, for an average of 5.1 hours. The number one way that individuals spent this free time was by becoming a couch potato for about 2.5 hours after work. Socializing came second in this contest of amusement, with the average amount of hours spent amounting to 0.75.
                During the working day – that 8 hour interval where the suffering and suffocating takes place – people also spend a great amount of time chatting it up with their co-workers (or fellow students, though the percentages would be much higher). According to a survey, fifty to eighty percent of the workday is devoted to communicating, with two-thirds of that time spent on talking.
                This means that about 7.5 hours are devoted to speaking to our fellow human beings; this in turn means that roughly one-third of a typical day is spent socializing. One-half of our waking hours are spent with our larynx under constant pressure. The point is that we are social beings. We like to communicate and connect with others like ourselves. Surely in this large frame of time, we can find something to talk about that is of more import than the mercurial weather.
                While we’re on the subject, let’s delve into the issue of depth of thought. There is a world full of possibilities, as clichéd as the saying may be. There are millions of topics just waiting to be discussed. Discussing commonplace gossip and trivial matters is just flogging a dead horse, as my astute math teacher used to say. The horse is dead, already – leave it be! 
                 Just the other day, I walked in on a heated conversation between some of my relatives. Words were splattered across the wall, dripping down the pristine surface, the ink staining the grained hardwood. I paused in shock, hearing the conviction in my one relative’s voice and the condemnation in the other’s.
                “Relative” might be too loose of a description for one of the participants: my father. He doesn’t prevaricate when it comes to something he believes in. He is often given the opportunity to voice his concerns (and very loudly, I might add).
                Instead of nodding submissively at an impassive comment that my relative had made, my father remarked that she was a dolt for believing what she did, and proceeded to demonstrate how much of one she was with facts and feeling. She eventually conceded, none the worse for wear, but changed, nonetheless.
                There are a multitude of things that one can discuss during the interminable hours of the school – or work – day. One might choose to discuss topics where thought has clearly been well-placed, such as well-loved novels or a thought-provoking blog. Perhaps one might choose to ponder why one must suffer through the days hearing conversations that make one’s ears metaphorically bleed. Perhaps Premier Dalton McGuinty irks you, makes you want to slap him silly, or simply tell him to listen to the nice lady talk for one moment, because she obviously isn’t like the other lying, conniving politicians who want your vote so that he or she can spend the next four years saving face for failing to do something that she said that she would do in the first place at the time of the election. Oh, wait a minute… 
Our Premier, Dalton McGuinty
                But in all seriousness, anything is possible if you just believe. If you want to score a goal in soccer, it’s possible. If you want to beat your best friend’s score on COD, it is possible. If you want to wax poetical, it is possible. Therefore, if you want to speak intelligently, it is also possible. No, really, it’s true. But one thing that should be taken under serious consideration is that frivolous drivel should be limited in conversation, at the very least. There – I’ve thrown down the gauntlet; will you accept the challenge?



References:
http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.1460-2466.1972.tb00141.x/abstract
http://usgovinfo.about.com/od/censusandstatistics/a/averageday.htm
 
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